Of Lions and Badgers
by coffeeflavoredkisses
Summary: Hogwarts AU. The timeline of Sam Winchester's life goes something like this: At six months old, his mother leaves him. At one years old, his father leaves him. At seven years old, his brother leaves him. At eleven years old, he finally follows his brother to school. He gets back everything that he needs.
1. Prologue

When Dean gets his Hogwarts letter, the only surprise is that the owl knows where to find him.

At that point, they're living in a rental house in a Muggle neighborhood in Surrey. Dad's out discreetly inquiring about the high number of corpses in the area with no real cause of death attached to them, and Dean's trying to check Sam's math homework without wondering whether Dad will come home this time. Sam's just starting fourth grade, both because he's an overachieving little shit and because Dean's trying to get him as far as he can before he has to leave. And he will have to. Dad's made it very clear that once Dean's Hogwarts letter comes he doesn't have a choice in the matter.

So when he finds the thick parchment envelope propped up against the kitchen window, he thinks about hiding it. For a split second, he thinks about burning it.

But he knows better. Even if he were to quietly write back and decline, he wouldn't put it past his dad to write Hogwarts and demand to know why his son hadn't gotten a letter. After all, it isn't as if it's not obvious by now that Dean has magic.

No, it's definitely better to tell him. But first he has to tell Sammy.

"Dean… what's that?" Dean spins around, envelope clutched in his hands half-opened. Sam's standing behind him, shifting uncomfortable from bare foot to bare foot on the cold linoleum floor. The kid delights in taking advantage of the winter and spring months to cozy up in heavy sweatpants and oversized sweatshirts, but god forbid he put on a pair of socks.

The look on his face is an odd mixture of hesitant and stricken, and Dean wants nothing more than to tell him that it's fine, it's nothing, just a letter from Pastor Jim making sure they're doing all right. But delaying the inevitable isn't going to make this any easier.

"Sammy…" Despite his resolve, Dean can't find the words. Sam does it for him.

"Hogwarts, huh? Guess you're a wizard after all." Dean knows he's trying to sound excited, teasing. Mostly he just sounds scared.

"We always knew. And we know you are too. You'll be getting one of these before you know it." Dean's trying to sound encouraging, happy. Mostly he just sounds desperate.

Sam just nods, looking down at his feet. "Yeah, okay."

Dean bites his lip. "I won't go."

Sam's head shoots up, and for a moment he looks hopeful. But then his face falls. "No, I- you have to. You deserve that, and- and Mom would want you to."

"I know, but… you'll be alone." Neither of them bother to pretend Dad will be there.

"I'll be fine."

Dean hesitates. Sam rolls his eyes. "Besides, someone's gotta learn enough magic to save Dad's Muggle self from getting killed by all those wizards he provokes. Dean, I want you to go."

"All right, Sammy. Whatever you want." Dean agrees softly, both of them still pretending he has a choice in the matter.

Sam nods. He looks down, swallows hard, and shakes his head a little. When he looks up again, he smiles mischievously. It looks a little forced, but it's there and Dean's relieved. "So what house do you think you'll be in?"

Dean snorts, shakes his head. Then the look softens. "Mom was a Hufflepuff."

"You could be a Hufflepuff." Sam says thoughtfully.

Dean shakes his head and looks down. "No, I don't think so."

Sam takes a step closer, tugs on the hem of Dean's shirt to get him to look up. "You could be. But I think you'll be a Gryffindor."

"Yeah?" He asks, doubtful. Sam nods.

"Yeah. Cause Gryffindors are heroes."

Dean's eyes widen, shocked. "I'm not a hero, Sam."

Sam just shrugs. "You are to me."

Sam doesn't give him a chance to protest, just wraps his arms around his brother's shoulders and hugs him tightly. They don't say a word.

For the rest of the night, they speculate about Hogwarts. What the castle's going to be like, the classes, the people, and Sam's favorite- when Dean's going to be able to come home. They talk about the happy things and put a lid on the bad, just like their dad taught them.

Sam smiles and smiles and cries himself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 1

Today is the worst day of Sam's life.

Well, he amends, maybe that honor would have to go to the day his mother died. He's sure that somehow the root of all his problems starts there. Still, seeing as he was only six months old then, he can definitely christen today as the worst day he can ever actually _remember_ having.

He just watched his brother disappear into thin air.

And maybe that's melodramatic of him, because really he watched his brother disappear through a brick wall. But then, that sounds just as bad.

It's just that, if he calls it disappearing, if he makes it into a mystery, he doesn't have to face that fact that his brother just walked away from him.

The fact that Dean had no choice is a small comfort. Sam was too young to accompany him onto the platform, seeing as Dean wouldn't be walking him out and his father couldn't make it on in the first place, being a Muggle and all. And really, Sam isn't sure watching a train speed away with Dean on it would have been much better, but it would have been a better image to leave with than the image of Dean walking away.

He didn't look back.

…

Dean looks back toward the wall he just walked through at least five times.

He can't help himself, but just because he walked through it doesn't mean he can see through it. His conflicted glances accomplish nothing more than causing him to bump into a girl with fiery red hair lugging a trunk similar to his.

Looking back, it may have been one of the best things to ever happen to him.

The girl curses loudly, frustrated expression and angry words causing Dean to stumble to a stop. Sure, he's got about six inches on this girl and maybe thirty pounds to boot, but she's rounding on him with hands clenched in fists at her sides and cheeks as red as her hair.

"Well?" She snaps, and Dean blinks slowly.

"I'm… sorry?" He offers hesitantly, and she huffs, blowing her bangs off her forehead with the puff of air released and shaking her head.

"Yeah, because that was convincing. Are you going to help me or what?" Dean looks to the ground where her suitcase has spilled open, thankfully only some of its contents scattered across the ground, and winces apologetically.

He doesn't say another word, just sets to work shoving her books back into place and wrestling the lid closed before he hefts it over his shoulder without prompting. He can feel her approving gaze as she directs him to an empty compartment. Thankfully, she stands watch over his own trunk, abandoned on the ground, though he can't imagine what anyone would want with a set of secondhand books and ratty old robes.

When he gets back to where she's standing and picks up his things, about to set off looking for his own empty compartment, she speaks again. For the first time he detects something vulnerable in her fierce persona. "You can put that with mine, if you'd like. Unless you're already sitting with someone, I mean."

A small bit of tension leaves Dean with the words, but he still doesn't speak. Huffing slightly with the exertion of heaving two trunks a fair distance and then over his head, he just slips her a breathless smile and beckons her to follow him.

"So do you not talk or something? Which is totally cool, but you've said, like, two words so far, and I need to know how much I'm going to be expected to compensate. I've heard this is a long ride." The girl perches nervously on the edge of her seat as she rambles just the slightest bit, and Dean collapses into his with a grateful sigh and a laugh.

"Let me know when you're going to let me get a word in edgewise and I'll talk plenty." Dean promises, and the girl's answering smile is one part bashful and two parts excited.

"Feel free to tell me to shut up. I'm Charlie, by the way. Charlie Bradbury." She thrusts out a shaking hand, and Dean takes it gingerly.

"You feeling okay, Charlie Bradbury?" He asks, feeling the tremors continue in his grip. She takes her hand back and sits on it, shrugs her shoulders.

"Nervous. And excited. But mostly nervous. Neither of my parents are magic, did you know? So like, half of me feels like this is a dream come true, and the other half thinks it's some big practical joke, like maybe when we get there they'll send me back and tell me I'm not really a wizard. I don't really even know much about Hogwarts, and I feel like all these other kids who comes from wizarding families are so far ahead of me and I'm just… nervous."

Dean thinks he must look something like a deer caught in headlights, not entirely sure what to do with the unexpected onslaught. Charlie blushes.

"Wow. I'm sorry. I wish I could say I don't normally do things like that, but, well, when I get nervous I tend to tell my life story to total strangers." The last part is mumbled to the floor before she perks up and stares at him curiously. "You never told me your name."

"Dean Winchester. And Charlie? I think we're gonna be just fine."

…

Sam Winchester will tell you with utmost certainty that when Dean Winchester says things are going to be fine, then things are going to be fine. Dean thinks he's beginning to bring Charlie around to that sentiment.

They're standing outside the Great Hall, having made it there in one piece despite their numerous worrying mishaps with the boat on the way here. They'd been both lucky and unlucky enough to get one of the last boats, just the two of them in it, dangling their hands over the edge of the boat to touch the water and fixing their gazes ahead at the lit castle silhouetted huge and looming against the dark night sky.

But really, whoever thought it was a good idea to give eleven year olds their own rowboats with only one adult supervising way up at the helm obviously didn't have much experience with children or the lake they were in. In the course of one ride, Charlie had almost fallen into the water when the gigantic but apparently friendly squid popped up to say hello and she'd staggered back towards the opposite side of the boat in shock, and they'd both nearly been capsized when the squid monster decided it wanted to play.

And now they're standing at the bottom of a stairwell listening to a stern-faced older woman explain the concept of sorting and houses and the fact that it was going to occur in front of the entire school. Charlie is close to hyperventilating.

"Did everyone else know about this? Did you know about this? Do you know what house you're going to be in? Oh god, will we still be friends if we're in different houses? We are friends, right?" The woman up front keeps speaking as Charlie hisses rapid-fire questions at Dean.

He blinks at her, taken aback, and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I knew, but no one really knows what house they're going to be in. Sometimes entire families get put in the same house for generations; sometimes identical twins are put in separate houses. It's never really guaranteed."

Charlie narrows her eyes at him as the doors open and they begin to walk forward. In the front of the hall there's a stool, and resting atop it is an old battered hat. Dean knows exactly what it's for, but Charlie ignores it in favor of asking, "What about your family, then?"

"Well my mom… my mom was a Hufflepuff, and my dad is a muggle. But my little brother reckons I'm going to be a Gryffindor." Dean informs her, shifting uncomfortably just as the hat opens its mouth and begins to sing. They've become rather close in the past day, thanks to a long train ride, shared nerves and Charlie's tendency to spill her guts to total strangers, but Dean hasn't done much talking about himself.

"You have a little brother?" Charlie asks shrewdly, uncannily picking out the most important part of what he'd said.

He nods, a smile coming unbidden to his lips at the thought of him. It's almost hard to believe Charlie doesn't know, that there's someone in the world who knows Dean and doesn't know Sam. He doesn't like the thought of that. "His name is Sam."

Before he can say anything else, the hat ends its song. The lady who had told them about the sorting, Professor McGonagall, reads out the first name.

Next to him, Charlie swears quietly and moans, "It's in alphabetical order."

Dean realizes she's right when her name is the next one called after the battered old hat places the first girl in Ravenclaw. He settles himself in for a long wait.

The hat is only on Charlie's head for a few moments. From his position he can see that her eyes are squeezed shut and her hands are gripping the edge of the stool tightly, and she only loosens her posture when the hat calls out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

She squeals and jumps off to her feet, barely remembering to hand the hat back to Professor McGonagall before she's running toward the Gryffindor table to thunderous applause. She does, however, manage to turn and flash Dean a dorky thumbs up that he returns with a grin.

Dean is the last to be sorted, no surprise there, and he likes to think he looks marginally more composed than Charlie. Looks being the operative word, because he's sure he feels about ten times more nervous. Charlie didn't go into this with any preconceived notions or hopes. Dean knows exactly what he could be getting into.

The hushed silence in the hall when he sits down lasts only until the hat is placed on his head. Then a voice is speaking in his ear, saying, "Well, well. A complex mind. Clever, yes. And loyal, oh my goodness. Plenty of courage, I see, and a strong heart."

To be perfectly honest, Dean is still in something like shock at the hat's positive assessment when he feels the brim open wide and hears it shout, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Distantly, he hears clapping from the table to the far left. He hands the hat over and begins walking there mechanically, but he's caught up in thoughts of his brother. He can't wait to get Sam's reaction when he writes later and tell him that he was right. The moment he sits down the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, is standing and speaking and telling them to enjoy a magnificent feast. He hopes Dad's remembered to get Sammy dinner tonight or he'll be eating stale cereal.

He shouldn't be here.

But then Charlie is swinging onto the bench to his right, chiding him for not sitting beside her and not giving him room to apologize for it before she's rambling on about how great it is they're in the same house and isn't the ceiling amazing and the candles are _floating_, Dean.

And he feels like maybe this is exactly where he should be. It's just that the bench to his left feels awfully empty.


	3. Chapter 2

**Year One, 1985-1986**

_September 1, 1985_

_Dear Sammy, _

_How are you doing? I wanted to ask if Dad made you dinner tonight, because I know he's used to me doing it, but then I realized you probably won't get this letter for days. So I guess a better question would be has he been making you dinner? I just realized after I wrote that that you might not even be with Dad. I want you to keep me updated on where you are, okay? Just so I know. I hate not knowing. I wish I was there with you._

_Or better yet, I wish you were here with me. Hogwarts is amazing, Sammy. It's this huge castle in the middle of nowhere, and we had to cross a lake to get here from the train station. I haven't seen much of it yet, just the Great Hall and the dormitory, but there's paintings, the wizard kind that talk, all over the wall and the staircases move. Oh, and there was a giant squid in the lake! It almost knocked over our boat, me and this girl Charlie. I just met her today on the train, and I think you'd like her, Sammy. I think we're friends._

_She's in the same house as I am. Which, guess what, you were right! I'm in Gryffindor, and I hope you will be too. There was this huge feast for dinner and we all had to sit at tables with our houses but I kept wishing you were there. I have to go to sleep now because classes start tomorrow and it's late but I had to write to you about my first day because I promised I would. I'll send the owl out tomorrow before breakfast._

_Write back soon and tell me about what you're doing._

_Dean_

_September 8, 1985_

_Dear Dean, _

_I knew you would be in Gryffindor! Does the Sorting Hat really read your mind? Does it feel weird? Hogwarts sounds cool, but kind of scary. Especially the moving staircases. What if you are on one when it moves? Or what if they fall? Is it safe?_

_I'm with Pastor Jim right now, and he makes me really yummy dinners. Dad dropped me off the day after you left since we were all ready near him in London. I wish you were here to because I miss you a lot but I'm okay. _

_Everything is normal here. Pastor Jim is teaching me something called cursive, he says people use it to sign there names. Look I signed mine to show you._

_I bet you're learning way more cooler things though._

_Love,_

_Sammy_

…

Dean doesn't notice how hard he's smiling until a chunk of bread hits him in the face. He frowns, finally looking up from Sam's letter to see Charlie raising an eyebrow at him from across the table.

"Are you going to eat or smile stupidly at that parchment all day? McGonagall will be furious if we're late to Transfiguration. Again."

Dean rolls his eyes at her, folding the parchment and tucking it inside his bag. "We've got plenty of time, drama queen. And that letter is the first contact I've had with my little brother in over a week, so shut up and let me enjoy it."

"How's Sam doing, then?" Charlie wordlessly concedes the point, forking up her eggs hurriedly even as Dean chews slowly on a single piece of bacon.

"Good, I guess. He misses me." Dean doesn't seem to notice the words cause a stupid smile to appear on his face, even when Charlie nods her head like that's already a given. Maybe he spends a little too much time talking about his brother.

…

_December 10, 1985_

_Dear Sammy,_

_I have to keep this letter short because I got a huge essay due for Transfiguration (it's due tomorrow. In my defense, who the hell assigns an essay three weeks before break?), but I'm really excited to see you. Like, so excited that Charlie refuses to talk about break with me because apparently I ramble or something. Anyway, can't wait to see you!_

_Dean_

_December 16, 1985_

_Dear Dean, _

_I guess there's no point sending this letter since you won't have time to reply before you're home, but I thought you'd want to know we're spending Christmas with Bobby. Dad says he'll be there too. Anyway, he's got a tree set up and everything and its real pretty. I even drew a picture, see? I wanted you to have it._

_Love,_

_Sammy_

…

"I don't think I've seen you this excited since… well, ever." Charlie says warily, curled up in an oversized sweater on the seat across from him. She's practically dozing, relaxed into the cushion and watching lazily while Dean literally bounces in his seat.

"You don't understand, Charlie. I'm about five minutes away from seeing Sam again after months and _months_. I don't think I've _been_ this excited ever." Dean enthuses, checking the clock outside the compartment yet again.

Charlie shrugs. "No, I get it. He's, like, the Samwise to your Frodo. Robin to your Batman."

"Exactly. Just without the gay subtext." Dean agrees, and Charlie laughs a little.

"Have I mentioned how great it is that you get these references? I would have had a much harder time adjusting to wizard life without someone there who knew about both Quidditch and Frodo Baggins."

Dean's about to say he understands, but before he can the train stops. And then all he's capable of is sitting bolt upright in his seat and shooting her a beaming smile.

Getting his luggage down, hopping off the train and pushing through the crowd on the platform all transform into one big blur. Before he knows it he's got his trunk in hand and he's rushing toward the brick wall that will take him back to the muggle world. After spending three and a half months surrounded by magic, there's no hesitation in his step or doubt in his mind that he can walk through seemingly solid brick and get exactly to where he needs to go.

He's not disappointed.

Sam is standing on the other side, eyes staring anxiously right at the spot Dean appears. His expression doesn't change for a moment until suddenly it does, until suddenly he's wriggling out from under their father's steadying hand on his shoulder and running full tilt toward Dean.

Dean drops his trunk where he stands and catches Sam in his arms, wrapping himself around his little brother and burying his nose in Sam's thick hair. Sam's shaking, jarring shudders tearing through him as he rambles nonsense too fast and mumbled for Dean to hear and tries to burrow closer until it feels like he's trying to get inside Dean's body.

"Whoa, hey, calm down, Sammy." Dean smoothes his hands up and down Sam's back quickly, pressing a small kiss to the top of his head in an effort to soothe hm.

"I can't, I can't not- you're _here_, Dean, you're _really here_ and I missed you _so much_-" Sam's not even pulling back to speak, just spewing the words straight into Dean's chest. They soak into Dean's shirt along with Sam's tears and Dean feels like the sorriest excuse for a brother there ever was because Sam missed him so much he's _crying_.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I missed you, too." Dean murmurs the words straight into Sam's hair, and the boy freezes.

"No, don't- don't apologize. It's okay, I mean, you were at school and that's where you should be. I just… I just missed you." Sam's suddenly shy again, not stopping himself from reaching out and taking Dean's hand but keeping his eyes lowered to stare at their intertwined fingers instead of meeting Dean's gaze.

Dean bites his tongue, bites back the words _I should be where you are_, and turns to greet his father. He starts blunt, just to see his father's warm brown eyes crinkle in amusement when he says, "Good to see you're still alive."

Dad even smiles, reaches out and pulls Dean into a one-armed hug, Dean's other hand still holding onto Sammy. He says, "It's good to see you, son."

"You been taking care of Sammy?" Dean asks, looking seriously at his father's face, and there's something sad in his dad's eyes that Dean doesn't understand when he answers.

"Isn't that usually my line?"

Dean nods, but the joke doesn't deter him. "Yeah, but now I'm not there you gotta look after him for me."

Sometimes John thinks that he wasn't there for his boys enough, that he let them down, made Dean feel like Sam is his responsibility.

Sometimes, watching them walk ahead of him through the train station talking quietly to each other in what might as well be their own language, he thinks Dean just feels like Sam is his, period.

**Year Two, 1986-1987**

_November 1, 1986_

_Dear Sammy,_

_Believe it or not, Halloween at Hogwarts for the second time is still just as awesome as it was the first time. This year me and Charlie spent most of the feast trying to levitate food into the floating jack o lantern's mouths but McGonagall got really mad. What did you do for Halloween? Did you dress up and go out? Did you carve pumkins with Caleb like normal? _

_I've been really busy with homework lately, but I'm learning loads and loads. And Christmas is coming up real soon, so I'll see you in a month! And two weeks, really, but by the time you get this letter it'll be about a month. Everyone says Hogwarts looks amazing during the holidays, with the lake frozen and the Great Hall decorated, so I wish I could see it. But I'm more excited to see you, and later when you're here maybe we can even stay for Christmas once. Some kids do that, and Dad's never home on Christmas anyway. It'll be great._

_Dean_

_November 10, 1986_

_Dear Dean,_

_I still can't believe the jack o lanterns float! I made one with Caleb and he said it was real scary but it wasn't floating. We went trick or treating too, and I dressed up as Robin cause he's Batmans sidekick and you always wanted to be Batman, remember? _

_I'm glad you're learning lots but I'm even more glad that you're coming home soon. I'm with Bobby right now and he said Dad is going to come pick me up to get you in 30 days. That seems like a long time to me because 30 is a big number and a day is very long but Bobby says it'll come before I know it. He said that last year to though._

_Love,_

_Sammy_

…

Sam is keeping a calendar.

It doesn't get Dean home any faster, but it does afford Sam a certain amount of peace every time he puts an x through another day that Dean's not here.

Another day closer to home.

**Year Three, 1987-1988**

_September 1, 1987_

_Dear Sammy,_

_I think tonight's sorting was probably the longest ever, but maybe I was just impatient for the feast. I swear, Sammy, the best part of Hogwarts is the food. _

_Did you know Bobby is at Hogwarts now? I talked to him after the feast and I guess he took over for the Ancient Runes teacher. I don't really know what that is because I didn't take it and I don't think I will cause it sounds hard. I was kind of mad at him because I know he's your favorite to stay with, but he says maybe we can both stay with him some in the summer._

_I hung the picture of us that you drew by my bed. It's real pretty, Sammy, thank you._

_Dean_

_September 9, 1987_

_Dear Dean,_

_I'm glad you liked the picture. I did know Bobby was going to be an Ancient Runes teacher because he came to say goodbye the day you left. I'm staying with Pastor Jim right now so I'll be fine without Bobby. _

_I'm sorry this letter is short but Pastor Jim is helping me with my schoolwork and it's keeping me really busy. You don't have to reply to this one if you don't want to cause I know I didn't write much. _

_Love,_

_Sam_

…

Sam's never had to lie to his brother before. Even on parchment, he's not sure where to start. Of course, he's equally unsure how to tell him what's really going on. How to tell him that he hasn't seen Pastor Jim since July, or that Dad doesn't bother dropping him off with anyone nowadays. How to tell him that he can't leave the house for days on end, or that he has to leave the lights off so people will think nobody's home. He doesn't know how to tell him that he's scared of the dark.

He doesn't know how to tell him that he has plenty of time to write letters. They're just not the kind of letters Dean wants to read.

He spends his nights composing letters to Dean in his head. It keeps the darkness at bay.

**Year Four, 1988-1989**

_December 12, 1988_

_Dear Sammy,_

_Almost home! Just think, Sammy, one more week until I'm on my way home, and after I get back here there's just the second half of the year to go before we don't have to deal with this only talking through letters for most of the year bullshit (Charlie thinks I shouldn't swear in my letters to you since you're only ten, but what does she know?)._

_Anyway, nothing special going on here. I lost my mittens, so that's annoying, but then my scarf seems to be gone too so I bet Charlie stole them. The teacher's have pretty much given up teaching for the term, which is great because I've pretty much given up paying attention. I spend too much time worrying about you, I think, it's not good for my education._

_You're more important anyway, though. I know I'll probably be home before you can respond to this, but don't think we're not gonna talk about whatever's going on with you when I get there._

_Dean_

…

Some letters Sam doesn't bother replying to. He doesn't think Dean will mind.

…

_January 20, 1989_

_Dear Sammy, _

_How are you feeling? I hope your cold is gone by now. I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to last this long. Please make sure __Dad__ someone takes you to the doctor if it hasn't gone away yet, okay?_

_I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay just in general, too. We didn't get much time to talk over the holidays but you seemed a little down, and you haven't really been writing much lately. Cheer up, yeah? We're in the home stretch here, Sammy. Just five more months to go until summer, and then you'll be coming to Hogwarts with me. _

_Anyway, nothing much is going on here. My birthday is coming up and it's a Hogsmeade weekend, so Charlie promised to buy me a butterbeer. I'll make sure to send you a care package from Honeydukes, so I better be getting a really good present from you this year._

_Write me back as soon as you can, okay? I know you must be busy, but I'm getting worried._

_Dean_

_February 1, 1989_

_Dear Dean,_

_I'm sorry for worrying you. I have been really busy, but I guess you'll be happy to know my cold is gone. Just in time, too, because I don't think any of the food you sent me is actually helpful to getting over a cold._

_I know I'm a little late, but happy birthday! I sent your present over with a different owl right after I sent this letter, so I hope it got there right around the same time. I made the mittens myself, so you're not allowed to laugh okay? This new woman I've been staying with, Ellen, she taught me how and I remembered you said you lost yours, so… yeah. Sorry if they're lame._

_Sam _

…

When Dean says he's getting worried about Sam, it is a bit of a slight understatement.

"Do you think he's okay? I mean I know he's physically okay but he just seems so _sad_. And that's just not like him, he was always a happy kid. Serious, but happy, you know?"

There's a rhythmic thumping to his left where Charlie is repeatedly dropping her head against the hard wood of the library table. This isn't the first time they've had this conversation. "No, Dean, I don't know, because _I have never met your little brother_."

"And this Ellen character, I don't know about her. I mean, how am I supposed to trust Sammy's safety with someone I've never met before?" Dean rambles on, undeterred by the way Charlie has her face firmly planted against an open copy of the _Standard Book of Spells, Year 4_.

"She taught him how to knit those pretty sweet mittens, she clearly can't be all bad." Charlie reasons, voice muffled by the pages smashed against her mouth.

Dean sighs suddenly and deflates. "I just…"

Charlie looks up, finally dredging up some genuine concern at the defeated tone of Dean's voice, but he just shakes his head and sighs again. "It's been a long four years."

…

_April 23, 1989_

_Dear Sam,_

_Happy birthday, kiddo! I am so sorry I couldn't come home this year, but I know Bobby went back to celebrate with you and Dad so I'm sure you had loads of fun anyway. You know I would've been there, but Charlie was sort of having a crisis and needed me to stay with her, so… yeah. I hope your present makes up for it. It's pretty great if I do say so myself._

_Two more months, Sammy. Cheer up._

_Dean_

_May 11, 1989_

_Dear Dean,_

_Thanks for all the books, I really enjoyed them. You know me too well, I guess. It's okay that you didn't come home for my birthday, I know a lot of people stay for the Easter holidays. I hope you had fun. Dad had to go to take care of some stuff, so it was just me and Bobby here, but it was still cool. He taught me some Ancient Runes, I definitely want to take his class when I'm a third year._

_Just about one more month. Can't wait to see you._

_Sam_

…

Sam's getting good at this whole lying thing.


	4. Chapter 3

When Sam gets his Hogwarts letter, it's a visceral relief.

It's not a surprise, not to anyone. Sam's been showing signs of magic since he was less than a year old. Unfortunately, logic does not effectively combat Sam's intense, all-too-familiar fear that he wouldn't make the cut.

Oddly enough, he doesn't have much of a vested interest in learning magic; he's intrigued, sure, but only about as much as he's interested in anything these days. And he isn't really excited about meeting friends, either- he's not exactly expecting to make any of those. There is the prospect of having a warm place to sleep every night to look forward to, but Sam has long since stopped being afraid of the dark.

But then, Hogwarts doesn't mean any of those things, not to Sam. Hogwarts means Dean.

It means that whether Dean deigns to spend time with his dorky little brother or not, whether he's sorted into Gryffindor or not- and that's looking increasingly unlikely the older Sam gets- Dean will be there. And that means Sam will be okay.

The letter shows up much like Dean's, sitting innocuously on the windowsill of a house that's not home. It's almost two months after Sam's birthday, which means Dean is there. Something like déjà vu curls in Sam's gut when he hears Dean's footsteps walking up behind him.

"Whatcha starin' at, Sammy?" Dean doesn't stop in the doorway though, carries on until he's breathing down Sam's neck, doesn't need to wait for Sam to tell him before he's exclaiming, "Was wondering when that was going to show up! Congrats, kiddo."

Dean wraps an arm around Sam's shoulders and ruffles his hair playfully, and Sam inexplicably feels like he's done something amazing.

…

Sam meets Charlie for the first time on September first.

It's been the most notable thing about the day so far, including walking through a brick wall. He thinks she'd take that as a compliment, if he told her.

He can immediately see why Dean likes her. Her wavy hair is as red as Dean's eyes are green and it's still not as bright as her smile. She's rambling awkwardly from the minute Dean introduces them, and he would find it annoying if it wasn't so goddamn endearing.

"Sam! Wow, I've heard so much about you. And, seriously, I'm not lying, that is not an exaggeration. You are literally all this guy ever talks about." Charlie jerks a thumb at Dean and rolls her eyes comically, sticking out a hand. "Anyway, I'm Charlie, though I guess you already knew that. It's so great to meet you! I'll shut up now."

"Hi, Charlie. Um, I guess I should apologize for inadvertently boring you to death before I've even met you, but it's really Dean's fault. He worries about me too much." Sam tells her shyly. Dean huffs next to him, no doubt about to protest that his worry is very much necessary, but Charlie beats him to it.

"Oh, don't I know it! But, man, it's not even just worry. It's, like, 'Sammy would love this,' or, 'Oh, I can't wait to tell Sammy that!'" Charlie pokes Dean in the shoulder, shaking her head. "Hopefully now that he doesn't have to spend all his time missing you I'll be able to find out if he has an actual personality under the default setting of 'big brother."

Sam stares at her, speechless. He'd always known Dean worried about him, but to believe that Dean actually wants him around seems too good to be true. Beside him, Dean just sighs. "As happy as I am that you two are bonding, I am clearly not needed in this conversation. You girls keep gossiping, I'll find us a compartment."

Charlie and Sam both roll their eyes simultaneously, which makes them grin at each other. Dean only groans before stomping dramatically away.

To both of their surprise, Sam's the first to speak. "I, um, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't really like anyone calling me Sammy." The _except for Dean_ goes unsaid.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Sam, I knew that. I just forget, 'cause Dean says it all the time. I'm told he's the only one that gets to, even though you're not a fan of it." Charlie arches an eyebrow knowingly.

Sam blushes. He looks around to see if Dean's in the vicinity before admitting quietly, "I don't mind so much. Don't tell him that, though."

Charlie grins, zips her lips and throws away the key, eyes twinkling. That's when Sam decides that he likes her too.

When Dean gets back, he grins brightly at seeing them chatting animatedly and silently grabs Charlie's trunk. She immediately breaks off in the middle of a sentence, putting on a truly horrible Southern belle accent and saying, "Oh, thank the Lord! I'm just _so _grateful that I have a big, strong man to carry my trunk for me. I surely couldn't have managed the weight with my delicate, feminine arms! Thank you, kind sir, thank you!"

Sam doesn't bother to stifle his laugh, but Dean just grunts and grabs the trunk anyway. "It's funny now, sure, but she does this every fucking year."

Charlie shoots Sam a mischievous grin, and Sam can't keep the answering smile off his face as she flounces after his brother. She kisses his cheek as she slips past him into the compartment while he's still storing her luggage. He turns around when he's done, face flushed and breath heavy, but he simply gestures for Sam's trunk. Sam shakes his head. "Dean, I can do it myself."

Dean grins. "Come on, Sammy, you know Charlie will be pissed if I discriminate. Besides, I can be your big strong man, too." He winks, and that's just not fair.

It should be funny, coming from his big brother who can't even wink right, coming from a fifteen year old kid who's only just starting to bulk up, but damn if it doesn't make Sam's knees go weak.

As if he wasn't already fucked up enough.

So Dean hauls the trunk up the steps himself, and Sam wishes he could kiss his brother's cheek as he brushes past him to sit across from Charlie on the surprisingly comfortable seats.

"So, Sammy, welcome to the Hogwarts Express!" Dean collapses in the seat next to him in his typical spectacular fashion, gesturing grandly at their surroundings. He continues, "It's a rather long ride, one normally spent listening to Charlie talk. I'm hoping your presence might break up the monotony."

Charlie kicks him in the shin, and ignores his yelp to suggest, "Maybe we should wander this time, try to help Sam meet some other first years."

Dean raises his eyebrows, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Try to make friends? This concept is unfamiliar to me."

"Shut up, Mr. Popularity. Just because your stunning good looks make up for your lack of personality…" Charlie teases, and Dean sits up straight, indignant.

"Excuse you, I have a sparkling personality. I am a _pleasure_."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, honey." Charlie's voice is full of false sympathy, but the façade drops as she turns to Sam. "So what do you say, Sam? Should we use your brother's stunning good looks to make you friends?"

Sam grins in spite of himself, shaking his head. "I'd really rather not, but thanks."

"Aw, Sammy, are you shy?" Dean croons, bumping their shoulders together, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Not even, jerk." The reply is second nature, but then Sam bites his lip and admits, "I just… I'm kinda nervous. About tonight."

"Aw, Sammy." Dean says again, in an entirely different tone of voice. "You don't have to be nervous. You know it's going to be fine no matter what."

"Not to intrude on a brotherly moment here, but he's right. And that's coming from someone who was way more nervous than you're acting right now. Though Dean was nervous, too, he just wouldn't admit it." Charlie piped up, and Sam glances at Dean hopefully.

Dean hesitates for a moment before he relents. "All right, fine, yeah, I was nervous. But everything was fine, and you're gonna be fine, so stop worrying, yeah? Just enjoy the ride."

Sam isn't sure if he meant that literally or if he was offering him profound life advice, but either way he stupidly feels better.

If Dean says it's going to be fine, then it's going to be fine.

…

It's two hours later, after lunch trolley has come and gone, after the small cities outside the windows have long since faded, that Dean leaves him alone with Charlie.

He says he's going to the bathroom, says he'll be back in five, but Charlie snorts at the words, ignores his playful glare, and whispers conspiratorially to Sam, "He says that, but don't hold your breath. The bathroom is on the other end of the train. He's going to get caught up in his admirers for awhile and forget about us lowly peons."

Sam swallows hard and tries to smile. Charlie has just unknowingly taken Sam's deepest fear and turned it into a few words and a joke. It'd be funny if he didn't feel like crying.

Luckily, Charlie doesn't notice. She just continues, "I act all disgruntled, but I really don't mind. Most of the time. There was that one time my last girlfriend admired him a little too much, and that sucked, but—Sam?"

He's not so lucky this time. Of course he's not exactly subtle either, blood draining from his face and air pushed from his lungs. He's just staring at Charlie in shock, barely managing to get out an inquiring, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I—Dean didn't tell you? Hate to disappoint, but I'm strictly into girls, here." Charlie jokes, brow furrowing in concern. Sam just shakes his head a little, trying to make the words make sense.

"And Dean's okay with that?" He asks, not realizing how insensitive the words are until Charlie flinches slightly.

"Well, yeah. Are you not?" Her voice is intriguing mix of hopeful and harsh, and Sam's eyes widen.

"No, sorry, of course I am! I just… I was surprised. About Dean." Sam clears his throat and avoids her eyes. "Our dad, he's not… I mean, he doesn't…"

Sam shrugs, looks up to meet a newly sympathetic, understanding gaze, and finishes unnecessarily. "He's not the most accepting."

"I'm sorry, Sam. That's gotta be hard." Her voice is soft, but Sam chokes.

"I don't—I mean, why would that be hard? It sucks and he's wrong but it doesn't have anything to do with me." His voice is too high and shaking, but she doesn't call him out on it. Mercifully, she simply nods.

A long few minutes pass and silence reigns. It's a comfortable silence, and Sam almost finds himself missing it when Charlie opens a new conversation with: "So hey, any idea what house you'll be in?"

Sam flinches slightly, but he manages to play the movement off as a shrug. "No, I mean, maybe Ravenclaw. I'm-I'm kinda smart."

Charlie snorts. "Kinda? The way I hear it from Dean, you're fucking brilliant."

"Dean gives me too much credit. Always has." Sam's response is automatic and true, but Charlie looks doubtful. Sam shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know where else I would go, though. I hope not Slytherin, and I don't know about Hufflepuff. I wish I'd be a Gryffindor, but…"

"You could be. I could see it." Charlie asserts. Then she says, quieter, "Dean said your mom was a Hufflepuff."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. He thinks of his mom, of soft hands and the smell of lavender, of a face he only knows from photographs. He says again, wistful, "Yeah."

This time around, Sam's the one to break the silence.

"Hey, Charlie… does Dean have friends in any other houses, besides Gryffindor?" He tries to sound offhand, idly curious, but he knows it's pointless. It's impossible to ask a question like that and not sound insecure.

Thankfully, she takes him seriously. She nods absently as she says, "Yeah, of course. There's Ash, in Ravenclaw, and Lisa Braeden in Hufflepuff. Oh, and I know he likes Anna Milton from Slytherin. He and Bela Talbot have a weird love-hate thing going on, and she's in Slytherin as well. There's more, I'm sure-"

"No, I get the point." Sam assures her, and she shuts her mouth.

Not a minute later she's opening it again, saying, "Just, you should know that Dean doesn't care what house you're in. He's just so excited you're here."

Sam just smiles at her ruefully and tells her honestly, "Not as excited as I am."


	5. Chapter 4

Sam has never claimed that he is not unhealthily dependent on his brother.

He's had a few years without him, yeah, long enough to get used to being on his own and taking care of himself, but the fact of the matter is he never truly feels _safe_ unless he's with Dean.

So when they get off the train and he finds out he's expected to follow this giant of a man he's never met and travel in boats across a dark lake with a bunch of other first years, he's understandably pretty uneasy.

It doesn't help that Dean's parting shot to him was "Watch out for the giant squid, Sammy!"

He ends up in a boat with two blonde girls. One of them is really something, nearly as tall as Sam with curly hair the color of sunshine. The moon is full tonight, providing just enough light to see the way it reflects in her bluegreen eyes. It's the first time Sam has ever actually looked at a girl and considered her attractive in something more than the distant, abstract sort of way he knows some girls are.

She's still got nothing on Dean. It's a sad thought.

The other girl is Jo Harvelle, the only other first year that Sam actually knows. The two of them are chatting amicably as the boats carry them smoothly toward the castle, but Sam isn't really listening to the conversation until Jo turns to him and says teasingly, "Hey Mr. Antisocial, have you introduced yourself to Jess yet?"

Sam starts, looking at the two beautiful girls watching him with expectant smiles, and just wishes he'd inherited his brother's charm. As it is, he can only offer a shaky grin in apology and stick out his hand. "Sorry about that. A little nervous, I guess. I'm Sam Winchester."

"Aren't we all." The girl agrees with a steady grin that belies her words. Her grip is firm as she shakes his hand. "Jessica Moore. You two know each other, then?"

"Yeah, our parents are friends. Sam stays with us sometimes, when…" Jo trails off then, casts a wary look at Sam and then shrugs. He gives her a reassuring smile. They both know how that sentence should end. _When his dad is too busy to care about him_. Or maybe he's got that backwards. Maybe it's _when his dad actually cares enough to not leave him alone_. Kindly, Jo simply finishes, "…when his Dad is busy."

Jess nods. "That's cool. We were just talking about the sorting, Sam. Any idea what house you'll be in?"

"Not really. What about you?" As deflections go it's not the smoothest, but Sam can't go through that conversation twice in one day.

"Oh, I don't know. My dad reckons I'll be a Ravenclaw, but my mom's betting on Gryffindor. Of course, those are the houses _they_ were in when they were here, so I expect they're a bit biased." Jess laughs, confident and carefree.

Sam aches with how much he wishes he could be like her.

"My mom thinks I'll be a Gryffindor, too. She and Dad both were." Jo turns to Sam then, despite his fervent wishing that they'll leave him out of it, and says, "Dean is too, isn't he?"

Sam doesn't know why she's bothering to ask. Her crush on Dean isn't exactly a secret, and he's sure she knows exactly what house he's in, has memorized that along with any other information she can get her hands on, from his favorite pie to his shoe size.

He resents her for it, just a little bit, and he hates that.

Still, it has the bonus of bringing up Dean, which is a subject Sam is always happy to talk about. Especially at a time like this. Stupid is at is, even the topic of his brother makes him feel a little calmer.

Like the answer to his prayers, Jess asks, "Who's Dean?"

"My big brother." Sam answers quietly, unable to stop the smile forming on his face. "He's a fifth year."

"Sounds like you two are close." Jess observes shrewdly.

"We are," Sam agrees, and it's the only thing he says on the matter because he's afraid of what else will come out, afraid of accidently saying all the things that live on the tip of his tongue.

Then, because he's a glutton for punishment, he teases, "Jo thinks he's cute."

"I do not!" Her shriek is expected, and he's not even surprised when she sticks her hand over the edge of the boat to splash him with icy water. It turns into a mild war, of course, and a truce is called only because Jess laughingly reminds them that they don't want to be soaking wet at the feast.

For the first time in four years, Sam almost feels lighthearted.

…

Unfortunately, that feeling disappears pretty damn quick.

He's reminded inescapably of his impending doom less than a minute after they enter the castle. They're shepherded quickly into a small chamber that, judging from the noise coming through the wall, must be just off the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall is waiting for them, just as Dean had told him, though she looks far nicer than Dean described. Stern, but nice.

Though, from the stories Dean's told him, he figures his brother probably doesn't see much of her nice side, no matter that Dean swears he's her favorite student.

She gives them a speech about sorting and house points and a couple more things he already knows, but he tunes her out in favor of attempting to settle his nerves by sheer force of will. His stomach is rolling, and wouldn't it be just awful if he were to puke out there in front of everyone?

The waiting is excruciating. First there's waiting until Professor McGonagall comes back to lead them into the hall, and then waiting for the hat to finish it's song. The wait for his name to be called is probably the most painful, second only to the pain of waiting for four years to be standing here.

Standing here sounds quite nice, actually. Standing in this very spot, at the back of a group of first years and waiting his turn to put on a dingy old hat that will make or break his time here at Hogwarts. Sam has never been so grateful to have a last name at the end of the alphabet.

Then, about halfway through the monotony, he hears a familiar piercing whistle and his head jerks up. Some boy has just been placed in Gryffindor, and the table on the far left is cheering. Sam's eyes immediately seek out Dean, and he isn't disappointed. Dean is clapping for the boy, but his eyes are fixed on Sam.

Dean gives Sam a reassuring smile amongst all the noise. Charlie is next to him flashing a dorky thumbs up. Sam feels inexplicably calmer.

The feeling lasts all the way until McGonagall calls, "Winchester, Samuel!"

Then he promptly panics.

Stumbling his way to the stool and putting on the hat is a terrified blur, but the quiet voice that speaks in his ear is clear as anything. "Hmm, well. You're a nervous one."

Sam was expecting it, really, but he still jumps. The hat laughs in his ear, and Sam feels a little indignant. He knows he's pretty pathetic, sure, but a _hat_ is laughing at him. That has to be a new low.

"A _brilliant_ mind, oh yes, and a thirst for knowledge." The hat seems to be musing to itself, and Sam feels a little annoyed. Enchanted hat or not, some manners would be nice. "Plenty of kindness, I see—maybe too much for your own good, really—and a strong sense of compassion, yes."

Sam hopes the large hat is covering enough of his face to mask his surprise at the words, because it almost seems like the hat is going to put him in—"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sam slips off the stool numbly. There's still two people left to be sorted, and he leaves the hat for them as he walks mechanically toward the table to the right. He's hoping he doesn't look as overwhelmed as he feels, hoping that the gradually increasing panic doesn't show on his face.

He resolutely does not look at Dean.

On the one hand, Dean could be ashamed and disappointed that Sam wasn't put into Gryffindor. He would tell Sam he wasn't, of course, but he wouldn't be able to hide it. Sam would see it in his eyes every time Dean looked at him.

And Sam would be more of a burden, now, he just knew it. Dean would feel obligated to hang out with him, but he'd have to make a special effort seeing as they would have separate classes, separate common rooms, separate tables to eat at. Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd use all those things, ready set excuses not to spend time with his annoying little brother, and Sam would barely see him at all.

The hard part is over, but Sam's still not entirely sure he won't puke.

"Are you all right?"

The gravelly voice jerks Sam out of his stupor, and he jerks his head to the left. He's still too stunned to answer, due to a combination of the unexpectedness of the question and the speaker's piercing blue eyes. They're a sharp contrast to the boy's messy dark hair, and Sam has to tear his eyes away before he can stammer out an answer. "I-I'm fine, sorry."

"I don't see why you should be apologizing- you looked to be upset. Are you unhappy with the results of the sorting?" The boy is cocking his head at him, watching him rather like he is a subject to be studied, and Sam swallows.

"No, I—I don't know. I was just rather hoping to be with my brother, and I hadn't considered… I don't know." Sam repeats the words to himself, realizing that all else aside he's not exactly unhappy with where he ended up. He had never thought of it as a possibility, not really. Hufflepuff is for the good, and Sam is anything but that.

Still, he's here. He can't help but wonder if his mother would be proud.

"Maybe that's something you should decide." The boy beside him cuts through his thoughts again, and Sam finds he's grateful. While he's been thinking, the plates in front of him have filled themselves with food. He begins helping himself to a small serving as the boy continues, "I'm Castiel, by the by. I didn't mean to pry without even introducing myself."

Sam chuckles. "No, it's all right. I'm Sam. And I'm guessing you're not a first year."

"Third year." Castiel confirms, nodding gravely over his potatoes. "Full of endless wisdom to bestow upon the new recruits."

Sam thinks this may be Castiel's idea of humor. He smiles. "Can I call you Cas?"

…

"Do you think he's okay?"

It's been ten minutes since the actual feast began, and Dean has since done the following: moved around to the other side of the table in order to better bore holes into the back of Sam's head, inquired after Charlie's opinion on his brother's prospective well-being no less than seven times, and refused to touch any of the delicious food Charlie has piled onto his plate in favor of chewing anxiously at the nail of his index finger like a small child.

As worried as she was in the beginning, he thinks she may be getting a little annoyed.

"Are _you_ okay?" She asks instead, and he jerks his head around to look at her, wordlessly indignant. She raises her hands in surrender, conceding the point. "Okay, okay, I get it. You just want your precious little Sammy to be happy. All I'm saying is I'm pretty sure Sam is gonna be fine with getting put in Hufflepuff as long as _you're_ fine with him getting put in Hufflepuff."

"Don't call him that." Dean grumbles. "Only-"

"-you can call him that, yeah, I know. Point is, the kid is scared to death you're gonna be all disappointed with his life choices and shit. Long as he knows you're not, you're golden."

Dean nods slowly, tapping his finger against his lip thoughtfully. "Charlie… don't wait for me after the feast."

Charlie grins wickedly, asks, "Why, Mr. Winchester, you don't mean to prevent an innocent first year from making his way to the dorms with his fellow Hufflepuff students, now do you?"

Dean doesn't say a word, just smiles slowly and finally begins eating his dinner. After a moment, Charlie smirks.

"McGonagall is gonna be pissed."

…

It might be an understatement to say that Sam doesn't have much of a sweet tooth.

It's always baffled the admittedly few adults in his life that a young kid didn't want candy, or cake, or ice cream, but Sam would honestly rather have a salad. He sometimes wonders if things would have been different if he hadn't grown up the way he had, on a steady diet of canned-this and boxed-that and candy bars from motel vending machines, fresh vegetables a luxury they couldn't afford. Then again, Dean didn't seem to have a problem with it, so maybe it was just another one of those things that made Sam a freak.

Still, freak or not, even _his_ mouth started watering at the display of desserts that appeared after the feast.

He counts at least seven types of pie and refuses to let himself turn around and see the look on Dean's face.

Sam bets his brother will be absolutely gleeful, scooping slices onto his plate two at a time and devouring his way through them before replacing them with a new kind to try. It'd be a sight to see, as always, and Sam has no doubt several people will be watching as Dean lazily licks cherry pie filling from his lips.

Not two hours and he already misses Dean more than he can say.

Well, Sam thinks glumly, trying to enjoy the strawberries floating in sugary sauce around his plate, he never claimed not to be unhealthily dependent on his brother.

...

When the feast finally ends, it's something of a relief. Sam doesn't exactly expect to sleep much, no matter how welcome it would be after the long day, but it'll be nice to be able to lie alone with his thoughts.

He clambers to his feet with the rest of the rising crowd, keeping his eyes forward (not, under any circumstances, looking to the right) and trying to stay close to Cas so he doesn't get lost.

His efforts are in vain. Before they even get a close to the door Sam feels Dean's presence at his side, a familiar arm slung over his shoulder and squeezing tightly in a one-armed hug. Sam doesn't even try to not lean into it.

"Hey, kiddo, had to come say congrats! You are officially a Hogwarts student, how d'ya feel?" Dean's voice is loud in his ear, fighting to be heard amongst the chattering students. Sam shrugs.

"Kinda shocked, actually." His voice is quieter, but Dean hears him just fine. Dean always hears him.

"Yeah, I get that. Though, man, I should've called this one. You've always been a bleeding heart, and all the rest of that stuff that goes along with being a hippie badger." Dean jostles him slightly, and Sam doesn't want to blush but he does. Before he can respond, a voice is ringing out over the chatter.

"Dean Winchester! I trust you can escort yourself back to the rest of your house?" Sam looks up to see Professor McGonagall staring pointedly at Dean, and Sam tries to push him away. Dean's not having any of it, just flashes McGonagall a thumbs up and turning back to Sam.

"And that's my cue. But hey, I know you're worried, and I wanna talk. Tomorrow before breakfast, meet me in the courtyard around seven-ish?" There's a long pause after Dean finishes speaking, enough to make him shake Sam gently to prompt an answer.

"Okay. Thanks, Dean." Sam smiles shyly at him, but Dean just shrugs as if it's no big deal. As if it doesn't mean the world.

"Winchester! Now, if you please!" McGonagall has evidently given up on patience, and they both jump.

Dean makes to pull away, but then he steps back and tugs Sam in for a hug. Traffic is parting around them where they stopped, students grumbling and shoving at them good-naturedly, but Sam is too distracted by the brief press of Dean's lips to his temple to notice anything else.

And then Dean steps back, smiles at him fondly and says, "Mom would've been so proud of you, Sammy."

And after that? Well, for all Sam knows, he floats to the dormitories.


	6. Chapter 5

Sam doesn't know how to stop worrying.

He wishes someone could teach him, because he's sure it would greatly improve his quality of life. Dean wouldn't be of any help, of course, because Sam isn't sure Dean actually knows _how_ to worry- not about anything other than Sam, at least. Maybe he should ask Charlie.

Not that it would actually help him at the moment. Even as he's walking down the cavernous corridor, empty at half past six in the morning, he's worrying. Worrying about whether he'll be able to find the courtyard, about whether Dean will be there on time, about whether Dean will be there at all. It's not like Sam would blame him for sleeping in instead of spending his morning reassuring his insecure little brother.

But the next time he looks up, Dean is striding down the hallway toward him, wide grin visible from a hundred feet away.

"Sammy!" Dean calls joyfully, lifting a hand and waving as if Sam hasn't seen him. "How'd I know you were gonna be early?"

"'Cause I'm nervous as hell?" Sam suggests helpfully, but Dean just shakes his head and grins.

"No, 'cause you're an overachieving little shit." He corrects good-naturedly, and Sam is smiling even as he rolls his eyes. They meet in the middle of the hall, and Dean jerks his head in the direction he came. "Courtyard's this way. Figured I'd come show you the route, save you some trouble."

Sam only nods. He's been waiting all night to talk to Dean, but now that he's here he's got absolutely no idea what to say.

After a bit of walking silently, Dean nudges Sam and points upward. They're underneath a cluster of staircases, all shifting positions and swinging around above them. He smiles. "Staircases move."

Sam looks at him strangely. "Yeah, Dean. I know."

Dean shakes his head, still staring up. He looks oddly wistful. "You were so excited about that, remember? First time I wrote you, you were asking me all about whether they were safe, thinkin' they could fall…"

"I was a kid." Sam says uneasily, thrown off guard by the depth of Dean's sadness at Sam not thinking a bunch of moving staircases are cool.

Dean just shakes his head and sighs. "And you're not now."

Sam doesn't know how to tell Dean that he hasn't been a kid since Dean left.

Somehow, he thinks Dean already knows.

…

At some point in the last four years, Sam and Dean have drifted apart.

Now, this doesn't mean that they're not still close, or that Dean can't still read Sam like the back of his hand, or that they don't still care more about each other than anything else in the world.

It just means that somehow, sometime, Dean has stopped knowing every single detail about his brother. He knows the important stuff, like Sam's preferred breakfast and his favorite ice cream flavor and that awful habit he's got of biting his nails when he's nervous (he got that one from Dean, after all).

But he doesn't know when Sam started hunching his shoulders in to make himself look smaller all the time, or when he started censoring himself even around Dean. When he started reaching out to make contact and pulling back at the last second as if not sure his touch would be welcomed, or when he started opening his mouth hesitantly and then closing it quickly and biting his lip anxiously as if not sure Dean would want to hear what he's got to say, as if Dean doesn't want to listen to and commit to memory and treasure every goddamn thing that comes out of his brother's mouth.

Needless to say, Dean's not happy with the changes.

They spend almost half an hour talking aimlessly before Dean decides to bring it up.

"Sammy," he starts gently, almost sorry for the careful tone when he sees how it makes Sam pale. "Are you even happy to be here?"

"What?" Sam asks, abrupt and wide-eyed. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he manages to spit out a hasty answer. "Are you—Dean, of course I'm happy to be here. I've been waiting to be here since I was seven years old!"

"I just wish you'd talk to me." Dean replies, quick, bitten off and more out of frustration than anything else. It probably isn't what Sam had expected to hear, because it certainly wasn't what Dean had expected to say. Before Sam can say something stupid and obvious in an attempt to deflect the real meaning, Dean continues. "I mean, really talk. You've changed so much, and I don't even know when it happened. You've been avoiding this conversation for over a year, and I just… you used to talk to me."

Dean doesn't know if he's expecting Sam to deny any such change or avoidance, or if he's expecting him to blurt out a lengthy, heartbreaking explanation and then fall into Dean's arms. He's certainly not expecting it when Sam says bluntly, "I didn't think it bothered you."

"You didn't—come on, cut the crap, Sam," Dean says disbelievingly, but Sam just shrugs, face unreadable. "How could you ever think that?"

"Look, don't—don't take this the wrong way, okay? I know you care about me, and I know I'm important to you and all, but I'm not—you have your own life here, you know? One I'm not a part of, not really, and that's fine. You took care of me for so long, and you deserve that. Why should it bother you that I'm not complaining about all my petty problems?"

Dean isn't sure there are actual words to describe what he feels after hearing that. Horrified, shocked, and absolutely devastated might come close, but they're just not enough. Not enough to capture the alarming revelation that Sammy has no fucking idea, none at all, about what he is to Dean.

"You don't get it," Dean mutters, hardly aware he's speaking, and Sam makes an inquisitive noise from his perch on the bench as Dean launches to his feet and starts pacing the courtyard agitatedly. "I can't believe you don't get it. Fuck, man, you said it yourself—I took care of you your whole life. I've _cared about you _your whole life. It was never a—a burden, or something I wanted a life away from. Sammy, there is no universe, no dimension, no reality in which I have a life that you are not a central part of. How can you not get that?"

It's fair to say that Sam is speechless by the time Dean stops. Stops walking, stops talking, stares at Sam hard and shakes his head slowly, rubs a slightly trembling hand across his mouth. Sam looks suitably overwhelmed, and Dean sort of wants to swear at him for making them have the biggest chick flick moment ever.

"It was a burden for everyone else." Sam says suddenly, ignoring Dean's askance look and continuing, "For Dad, for Pastor Jim, for Bobby… and don't tell me it wasn't, because I know. I could tell, I could see it in their eyes. You… you were the only one that ever really cared about me. Somewhere along the line I guess I forgot that."

Dean makes his way back to the bench and sits down next to Sam, crowds in close the way they always have, the way Sam hasn't been allowing himself to lately. He settles his shoulder against Sam's and says casually, "Well, you're never going to forget again. Not gonna give you the chance."

Sam leans against him easily. He ducks his head and hides behind his bangs, but Dean can still see his smile. "Thanks, Dean."

"And Sammy… Dad does love us." Dean says confidently, and Sam just shrugs. Dean sighs. "It's just… Somewhere along the line, I think he forgot, too."

Sam leans against him more heavily, and his breath hitches a little. "Did—Did Mom ever forget?"

Dean shakes his head immediately, arm going around Sam and pulling him in for a hug. Sam turns sideways on the bench and burrows into the embrace immediately and wholly, and Dean pretends he's not choked up when he answers, "Never. Not for a second. I meant what I said last night, Sammy. She'd be so fucking proud of you."

He can hear the grin in Sam's voice when he asks shyly, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dean confirms, then jostles him playfully. "Not as proud as I am, though."

"You're really not upset?" Sam asks, pulling back and swiping discreetly at his faintly shimmering cheeks. "I mean, that I'm not in Gryffindor. We won't be able to see each other much."

"Sure we will," Dean disagrees. "Seein' each other now, aren't we? Maybe we can't sit together at meals or hang out in the dormitories, but there's plenty of time between dinner and curfew to hang out. Not to mention weekends. It'll be fine, kiddo, you'll see."

"Don't call me that." Sam's reaction is automatic and only a precursor to his actual response, so Dean waits patiently. What he gets isn't what he's expecting. "Okay. But, um, are we even supposed to be out right now? Because she looks mad."

When Dean turns around to look where Sam's gaze is directed, he sees Professor McGonagall striding purposefully into the courtyard. Dean grins. "Nah, we're fine. That's just her default expression whenever she sees me."

"Good morning, Mr. Winchester. I trust you have a perfectly innocent reason for being out of the dormitory this early?"

"Totally innocent. Just having a chat with my little brother here before he starts his first day. Sammy, this is Professor McGonagall. Professor, this is Sam. I promise you he's absolutely nothing like me." Dean grins charismatically, and Sam's not surprised to see an amused smile playing around the edges of the stern professor's lips. _No one_ is immune to Dean's charm. Before either of them can speak, Dean amends, "Well, he did inherit my talent, not to mention my intelligence. However, my charming wit seems to have passed him by."

"I hope for both of our sakes' that you are correct." She says to Dean, and then offers Sam an unexpectedly warm smile. "I look forward to seeing you in my class, Mr. Winchester."

She gives them both a nod before continuing on her way through the courtyard, and Sam lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Dean nods sympathetically. "She can be kind of intimidating."

"You think?" Sam mutters, shaking his head. "I bet her class is gonna be tough."

Dean shrugs, says confidently, "You'll ace it."

And, well, as long as Dean has that confidence in him, Sam can do anything in the world.

…

By the time Sam's first day is drawing to a close, he's feeling better than he ever expected about being at Hogwarts.

It isn't that he'd had some big epiphany or anything after his conversation with Dean. There was no big heart wrenching revelation that he wants to study hard and try out for the fucking Quidditch team, but it had changed things. Something about knowing his brother wants him around makes him feel like he belongs in a way he never has before.

It was a good day.

He'd had breakfast and lunch with Cas, steadily learning more about the older boy as they ate. He'd listened to Cas grumble good-naturedly about his siblings, a brother and a sister, older than him by three years and two years respectively, named Gabriel and Anna. They're both in Slytherin, and at first Sam had thought that was why Cas had spent so much time glancing at that table.

Then he'd realized the looks were directed at a girl with dark hair and dark eyes who had smirked every time she caught him looking. Sam had asked about her multiple times, but it wasn't until lunch that he managed to wrangle out that her name is Meg Masters and while Cas did not, under any circumstances, _like_ her, he happened to find her rather… intriguing.

He'd seen Dean several times throughout the day, mostly just passing him and Charlie between classes and exchanging a wave, sometimes receiving a ruffle to his hair or a punch to his shoulder or a too-loud call of "Heya, Sammy!" Just a few minutes ago Sam had told him he was headed to Transfiguration, and Dean had turned around and walked him straight to his classroom door, poking his head in to give McGonagall a jolly wave just to hear her say, "Please find your _own_ classroom, Mr. Winchester."

Thanks to his brother's intervention, he got to the classroom a lot earlier than he would have and takes his pick of seats. He automatically heads to the left side of the classroom and has only just settled into one of the middle rows when someone plops themselves down next to him.

Jess is sitting to his right, staring at him with a triumphant grin. "Sam! I _knew_ you were in Hufflepuff. Why didn't I see you in any of the other classes we share?"

"…I was probably hiding in the back." Sam admits once he's gotten over his shock. He had seen Jess in quite a few of his other classes, but he wasn't entirely sure his company would be welcomed. It's nice to know he was wrong. "I'm still a little nervous."

"Even now? The hard part is over!" Jess exclaims, gesturing at the yellow and black insignia on his robe.

He shrugs sheepishly. "First day jitters, I suppose."

"Well, come on, be fierce! Badger pride!" Jess encourages, and Sam laughs.

"I… don't know that Hufflepuffs are known for their fierceness." He points out, grinning, and she just waves a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, well, Ravenclaws aren't known for being badasses either, but here we are." She shrugs unrepentantly and smirks, and for a moment she reminds him so fiercely of Dean it takes his breath away.

She begins unpacking her bag just as Professor McGonagall calls the class to order, textbook, parchment and quill laid out neatly on her side of the two-person table next to her wand. Sam watches her until she nudges him sharply and jerks her head toward McGonagall, silently telling him to pay attention. She grins at him as she does it, though, and Sam can't hide his smile as he turns to face the front.

It's only been a day, but he finds himself hoping this girl is going to stick around.

Not a second later, he kicks himself for bothering to hope she would. It's not like anyone else ever has.


End file.
